


Silent Under the Stars

by Wristic



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Old Wounds, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 12:58:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wristic/pseuds/Wristic
Summary: After traveling with Max for a few months, you find a trinket you’ve long missed and are beyond elated to have in your hands again. However pulling something from Max you didn’t expect.





	Silent Under the Stars

Max was a bit distant, to say the least. A savage sort, one of the lone wolves who’d been alone just a touch too long. You’d seen it many times before, the Great Sand Sea had a way of ripping apart a mind till only instinct remained, and your instinct would normally set you away from those types. You didn’t know what set Max apart from the rest, why you weren’t afraid of him when he was being his brutal and heartless self, and why he never got annoyed with you hanging around like you did. Especially with the way you nagged and maintenance him when he failed to take care of himself, skipping steps to bandage a wound or not caring for his clothes falling into tatters. You supposed, because while he could be as ruthless as the next man in this world, there was a diamond of a heart buried in his barrel chest.

You grew up in The City of Revelation, the council wanting its residence pristine to match its rigorous acceptance policy for new comers. Sometimes you wondered the person you would be had you not left, and usually by the end of that thought you were haunted by people begging not to be kicked out, how they’d starve and die, mercy, just a little mercy, and the bones that littered outside the walls for miles.

Ungrateful, stupidly rebellious, bleeding heart who couldn’t do what was necessary, Max never called you any of those things after baring it all one drunken night under the stars. Only grunted and said, “Gotta, do right by you. Would’a been lost, any other way.” So simple and yet when he fell asleep, you cried.

It was often left up to you to fill up the air with endless chatter, answering your own questions as you and Max raided some abandoned car or long long forgotten building from the world before. You were cutting away in the trunk’s interior when his fingers fell on your lips, telling you in a nice way to shut the hell up.

Lifting and following his hawk like gaze, a small caravan was mirraging over the hill, far from the road like you and this unfortunate soul whose blood was splattered and dried brown on the driver’s seat.  

Putting away the knife you tapped on his gun, “Last town was talking about some group called Guts terrorizing the roads. Caravan that fat, he’s playing it smart going the long way.”

Max didn’t release his tension, but the reasoning was sound enough he put the gun over his shoulder.

You both waited the long trudge for the armored caravan to pull up, its edges spilling with trinkets and junk useful only in the right situation. You walked up with a bright smile as a pruny and sun-cured man relaxed in front of his barred window. Looking around with an innocent and excited air you asked, “So what do ya got to sell in the tanker?”

“Not in the trade for water or gas right now, anything else, say the word and we might be able to work something out.”

You turned back at Max, sitting himself against the old car, nodding for you to start business. At the moment you couldn’t think of anything off the top of your head that you needed. Food and gas was always at the top of the list, the car was still purring for the moment, and seeing as you and the salesman were on the same path, swindling anything to bargain in the next town over probably wasn’t going to happen. Looking up at the things strewn about in nets, you couldn’t help but ask. “You got a guitar? Or a fiddle or a bango? Something along those lines?”

Scratching his scraggly peppered beard, the man disappeared for a long moment, things being tossed around as he searched. He passed by the window holding an actual guitar, showing it and gesturing for you to come around to check it out. You practically sprinted to reach the door, aghast to see a worn out grey guitar, having been black once, some rust and dirt still clinging to it.

“It’s missing a string, don’t know anything about any of the other parts but if-”

“Oh man!” You jumped it out of his hands and nestled it in your arms, fingers flicking to hear the out of tune notes. “I was forced to sell mine last year to get out of The Prairie Hole!”

“Prairie Hole,” The man grumbled as he relaxed on his door sill, “more like Hell Hole.”

You chuckled, streaming out a steady tune your fingers rejoiced to feel again. “Right? Such a cute name for a brawler bar the size of a colony!”

As you kept playing effortlessly, tuning here and there, the old man started smiling, an old woman his age and a boy far too young to be theirs peeked from inside, you nodding a smile to them which they sheepishly returned. Not stopping, you asked, “We don’t actually have much but maybe you’d like some protection for the rest of the way? We are fairly stocked up on bullets right now.”

He glanced to his makeshift family, turning back to you with an eased smile. “Don’t need no protection. Sunset’ll be on the horizon soon enough, why don’t you play for the night and you can keep it. Sounds like it was meant to be in your hands anyway.”

Biting your lip you stepped around and looked to Max waiting for his say-so. There was an odd look in his eye, this tense worry so different from the random atrocities that plagued the land. Setting his jaw straight, Max nodded his okay.

You played for the caravan into the night. Played and sang until it hurt, till your fingers were rubbed raw and each string stung. Everyone was long since passed out save for you and Max, you comfortably resting against his back as you sang and played a slow song. One of distance and heartbreak, wishing to be safe in a love’s arms and destroying the world around to do so.

A shudder went through Max, a sharp intake of breath that took you a moment to realize what it was, something you never expected to feel from him. Out of pure shock your voice and your music drifted, lifting and turning to see what you already knew, Max was crying.

He was quiet about it, sniffling and his chest heaving to keep back the sobs, the tears falling of their own accord. Very quietly you asked, “Should I keep playing or stop?”

After a stuttering breath his broken and graveling voice shook through you, stapling deep in your memory till your dying day. “Keep playing.”

You got comfortable against his back again, starting over with the same song that seemed to pull something out of him. In your experience, sometimes it was a memory, sometimes just something in the soul broke to a certain tune. You wouldn’t ask him, if he wanted to elaborate what caused the dam to break he would have been rambling by now. But Max was Max, he never said anything.


End file.
